The Blubber Blog

So quick pre-amble. Go back to the June 27 blog - A Pound A Month for 13 Months.

Remember those claims I made?

I'm going to move my body.

I'm going to stop drinking pop.

I'm going to write in a food dairy.

Yeah - those I'm-going-to's are right up there with I'm going to learn how to fart in a gas tank and patent it so that we can all avoid the green house gas effect caused by fuel emmisions.

Ain't going to happen anytime soon.

It's been two whole months and I don't feel one bit thinner or better! I was moving my body more in the summer and enjoying it. The September long weekend I ran thirteen kilometers. That's nothing to sniff at! But this last week (the back to school week) has found me stalled.

The last three days have found me moving from the bed, to the computer, to the van, back to the computer and to the bed. My thighs are chaffing from rubbing together, right down to my knees... and when I tie my housecoat at the waist I swear I have a pot belly that rivals the old lady comic, Maxine. You know - the cranky old lady with the dark aviator glasses, cigarette and coffee?... Never mind.

And what should a resting heart rate be - cause mine is like 62. Isn't that awfully low? Is it some kind of indicator that my metabolism has practically ground to a halt meaning that every bite I put in my mouth immediately finds its way to my ass?

I want to run - but why is it work?

I like running. I love the feeling of the breeze and enjoying the sunset and walking through the leaves that are changing colour... but to go for a run would mean that I would have to get dressed in my work out clothes AND find socks AND tie up my shoes.

And the farther I run away from the house, the farther of a distance it is back home.

Ack? How did someone so entirely lazy and unmotivated start her own business?

Damn me anyways. I was going to win out against genetics and poor food choices and lose the last ten pounds while my husband was away fishing this week. You know, be a new woman by the time he got home. (Mee-ow I was down three pounds when I weighed myself after my last period. (I am almost certain that was water weight.)

Oh, for five cents - I realize it's petty. Who cares about ten pounds? My clothes all fit. Sure, I feel like an English banger when I do up my pants, all pinched around the middle and like the skin on my back will split if I get too hot...

As my six year rings the broken back door bell for the seventy third time and I feel my stress level climb... my brain recalls that a good deal of why I exercise is less about weight loss and more about remaining sane.

While I make my way to the back door through the piles of towels and school clothes that need to be washed, I'll be sure to find my shoes and put them on before I take the chicken out of the oven. Maybe that way, I'll be motivated to run as soon as everyone has been fed and watered.

Why can't the idea of running sound as appealing as .. say ... laying on the couch with a cup of green tea and the TV remote in my hand?

Never mind.

I'll go.